


Imagine: Castiel discovers some of your steamy erotic musings hidden in a book you carelessly left in the bunker's library and asks who they are about.

by webcricket



Series: Castiel Imagines [55]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Love Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18835174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket





	Imagine: Castiel discovers some of your steamy erotic musings hidden in a book you carelessly left in the bunker's library and asks who they are about.

“I believe these belong to you.” Castiel holds aloft a stack of folded papers. 

The deep baritone of his statement excites the very air around you, pleasantly prickling your skin. You recognize the plump stenciled cupid’s arrow pierced heart on the topmost sheet as your own angelically influenced art. The flesh and blood organ within your chest seizes as though struck through the center by this particular blue-eyed seraph’s proverbial bow. Part of you hopes he didn’t read the sensuously sultry lines written within the creased sheets. Part of you hopes he has.

“Um, I-” You gulp against a bounding heart threatening to burst forth from your throat. Rosy brightness blooms to blush your cheeks. “Yes, yes they are mine.” You reach out with trembling fingers to pluck them from his grasp. “I must’ve forgotten them in a book …”

He teasingly snatches the erotically-themed missives just out of grasp of your fingertips. “These colorful-” pausing, something sinfully appreciative shines in his gaze and squares the set of his jaw in a subtly tense tell of restraint- “poetically _carnal_ fantasies of yours, they’re-“ he stops to clear the catch rasping his tone with a self-conscious cough- “quite … _compelling_.” 

You’re not sure whether to thank him for the compliment, or, well, _really_ thank him. Maybe both. Your tongue lolls around uselessly behind your teeth.

Head slanting sideways in that _oh-so-adorable_ heavenly habit of his, his blues hood questioningly as they search your stymied regard for signs of a truth he desires and seek to banish any doubts dimming that lustful light of hope as to the _whom_. “Who are they about?”

Involuntary smile skimming your mouth, you don’t dare lie to the angel.


End file.
